I narrowly avoided getting my eye taken out today. A rumble between a werefox and wereleopard over a stupid werewolf jock broke out in the cafeteria and I had to hide under the table the whole time or risk getting my jaw dislocated again. During the last scuffle, I somehow got a stray kick to the head and the lower part of my face got loose. It never seems to matter how far away I am from the fray. For some reason, if there's a fight nearby and I happen to be in the vicinity, I always get caught in the crossfire.

My Aunt Ruffia says it's because I was born on the "wrong side of the moon," whatever that means. She has a lot of weird sayings like that. She is my father's older sister and their family is originally from Lithuania, the country with the highest suicide rate in the world. They are not happy people. Sometimes she says I attract trouble because I was born under a "bad moon rising." I'm pretty sure the other females of our pack believe this nonsense because I sometimes catch them crossing themselves when I walk by. But the fact of the matter is, my birth was not a fortuitous one because my parents weren't actually meant to meet and get together.

I'm the runt of our pack, which is to say, I have almost zero wolfiness. There are pups younger than me with stronger survival instincts and enhanced senses Nature imbues every werewolf at birth. I must have been skipped over in the queue because I'm not fast, strong, and I cannot shift. For most of our young, shifting becomes as easy as breathing by age eight.

Apparently, it's just a matter of putting yourself in a "wolfy" state of mind, and voila! Instant transformation. There's a human movie called "An American Werewolf in London" that I saw as a child and it terrified me. In it, the human to wolf transformation involves bones breaking and reforming, shredding of clothes, fur growing on skin, and agonizing pain. My Uncle Alfred, the Alpha of our pack, assures me it's nothing like that, and humans know nothing. But for me, transformation is like being perpetually constipated and nothing ever comes of it.

I was supposed to be special. My mother was in her human form when she gave birth to me and I came out as a wolf pup, which means I am a true wolf, and that's a rarity these days because of all the intermixing with the humans and other shifters

my friend Lucy is half weredog and half werecat, but she's my age and has never been able to shift into anything, so even her parents don't actually know what she is

. I spent the first year of my life as a wolf, then sometime during my sleep as a toddler, I transformed into my human form and haven't been able to shift back, since.

I HAD TO stay a little after school today because choir practice ran late and I play the piano for them. Naturally, I missed the bus. I hate having to walk home alone back to my uncle's compound at night because most folks around here see me as my pack's punching bag, so whenever someone a little higher than me on the totem pole decides to have fun, I can't exactly defend myself.

When I hear someone say, "Ruff—ruff—ruff!" like someone imitating the barking of a dog, my stomach jumps up to my throat. The little hairs on the back of my neck stand up like fear ganglia and I freeze. I chance a peek over my shoulder and see three were—hyena males sneering at me. Shit. Not these assholes again.

The Winslow Triplets are medium—height, compact boys in the tenth grade with red—brown hair and yellow eyes. I've never seen them without the other and at lunch they hang out on the grassy knoll by the Sanctuary with the other Mezos, hassling ninth grade females. For some reason, their favorite game involves me and chasing me ragged. They haven't caught me yet, but I live in fear for the day they do.

"We'll give you a three—minute head—start, puppy," the one in the middle snarls. "Make it a challenge this time, will you? You're starting to bore us."

"I pray for the day that happens," I shoot back.

Shinji, the eldest one, flashes me an ugly grin full of sharp teeth. "No, you don't. That's the day we end you. Get going, puppy. Go!'

I don't hesitate. I drop my backpack on the ground and run like I stole something. I dash down the street toward the intersection where people are and would have kept going till I caught a bus to the next town over, except I get a stitch in my side that robs me of my breath and saps my strength within a quarter mile.

Doubled—over in pain, I tell myself, "Keep going. You're gonna die if you stay here and you won't even have fleas to mourn you."

I dig deep and manage a few more yards until I have to stop again, clutching my stomach. Behind me, I can practically hear the baying and the yipping of the were—hyenas.

I had a crappy morning and I really wasn't looking to get killed today, especially not at the paws of these losers. Not that I don't already disgrace my pack every day by my very existence, but a dishonorable death would bring shame upon my uncle, the Alpha of the Ravencrest Pack, and he would probably be forced to kill Alpha of the hyenas. I really don't want any of that burden on me, thanks.

Down an embankment, I see a gap within the chain link fence that secured the back parking lot of Target. I slide down on my butt, wincing at the sharp rocks, and land on concrete. Right as I go through, the hyenas zip past on the path I would have taken, had I not seen this short—cut. They are fast.

I duck behind a dumpster as I see them rounding the corner into the entrance of the mall's parking lot. As though they coordinated it in advance, they search for me in between cars and under, going down aisle after aisle.

They're going to find me and eat me. I've heard they're flesh eaters. I grip the side of the metal dumpster and make a decision.

"This is not even close to the worst day of my life," I mutter to myself as I haul my own body into the dumpster and land on something that squished.

Thankfully, most of the rubbish is in secured trash bags, so it isn't too horrible. I still wouldn't choose it as the primo location for my new hide—out, but I think I can wait out my friend Lucy here.

She can pick me up in her truck and we will drive far, far away to her house where I could shower and have a change of clothes, so I could go back to the compound with some dignity. I'd likely get punished for being late, but the punishment would be worse if I went home looking like I hid in the dumpster to avoid getting beat up by a trio of hyenas.

I search the pockets of my hoodie, then my skirt, and nearly piss myself when I don't find my mobile. Fuck, it's it in my backpack. Damn it. I'm going to have to wait until the bastards get bored and find something else.

Which should take all of five to ten minutes. It's a Target parking lot. Lots of humans, noise, lights, and activity enough to distract them. Maybe they'll decide to each have a personal pan pizza, instead.

Speaking of pizza, a bag is tossed into the bin by a careless employee right over my head, splattering me with coffee. Right. I forgot this particular Target has a Starbucks inside.

FML. I bang my head against the metal of the trashcan as I hear the baying of the hyenas. I hope a human reports them for disturbance and they get taken in by the Division. That'll teach 'em.

A knock on the metal wall makes me jump and I scuttle toward the bag of wet garbage, ready to cover myself with it.

"They're gone," says a deep male voice that I sort of recognize.

It takes me a few seconds to get my mouth to form the words and a few more to get enough air to push them out. "Www—what?"

"The hyena assholes. They're gone. You can come out now."